


Prepare For The Unexpected

by Cat2000



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000
Summary: Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the television series The Witcher and I’m not making any money from this ficSummary: Written for The_Plaid_Slytherin as part of the FandomGiftBox exchange. Things come to a head between Geralt and Jaskier
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	Prepare For The Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



> Warning(s): Spoilers for the entire first season; AU; violence; sexual situations between two men
> 
> Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

“This is completely and utterly _your_ fault, Geralt.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and turned a full blown pout onto the Witcher, an action that might have been more effective had he not been dangling upside down from a rope and glaring at Geralt from his upside-down position. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just _listened_ to me.”

“Hold still,” Geralt responded absently. “Unless you _want_ to be food for the necrophage, of course.” He turned his back to the dangling bard, ignoring the protests Jaskier voiced (didn’t he _ever_ shut up?) and waited, silver sword in hand.

“I mean, I _told_ you that we shouldn’t go this way,” Jaskier continued, still talking as the rope creaked and Geralt heard his body swing round in a slow circle. His voice became a little less distinct as he carried on. “All of the rumours about unwary travelers disappearing in these woods and you just had to come and investigate. And drag me along with you, might I add.”

“There was no dragging involved.” Geralt grunted. “You followed me. And I told you not to.” He cast a glance back over his shoulder, at Jaskier’s back. “In other words, your current predicament is _your own_ fault.”

“Oh, just get me down from here.”

“In a minute.” Geralt turned his attention away from the bard and began to look slowly around the small clearing.

Blood drenched the grass he stood on. The bitter, metallic smell of it permeated his senses, filled his nose, made it impossible for him to taste anything else. But there was little else, other than the blood. If he had to fight, the slippery ground would make his footing treacherous.

“All the blood is rushing to my head,” Jaskier complained. “If you don’t get me down soon, I’m going to be sick.”

“It can’t possibly make the smell any worse,” Geralt muttered under his breath.

“Geralt.”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“Geralt.”

“I’ll get you down as soon as the necrophage is dead.”

“ _Geralt_.”

That was when Geralt heard it, below the sounds of Jaskier complaining. The snuffling sound of a beast. A low growl. Twigs snapping under clawed feet.

It was stalking towards them. Geralt held himself still, gripping his sword hilt tightly, waiting.

The necrophage wasn’t lunging for the hanging Jaskier. It was stalking towards them, like they were its prey. It must have eaten not long before the two of them got there; satiated, at least for a short time. Geralt knew that the necrophage’s belly wouldn’t stay full for long.

A snarl was the warning Geralt got as a clawed hand swiped towards him. He rolled to the side, away from the dangling Jaskier, drawing the monster away from the dangling bard. And as he came to his feet, he got a much better look at the monster.

It was tall, with long legs and arms and a skeletal appearance, the outlines of its ribs showing clear through patchy, dirty grey fur. It had sharp, bloody fangs that sent drool trickling its chin. There were claws on its paws, sharp and wickedly curved, stained with blood. It opened its mouth and let out an ear-splitting roar that sent a stench of rotting meat rolling over Geralt’s face. He turned his face to the side and then lunged forward, stabbing forward with the blade.

Quicker than the large size might have indicated, the necrophage darted to one side and let out another stench-filled roar.

Geralt circled round, but the necrophage was keeping its distance. It seemed to recognise the silver blade that could cause it true harm, because its yellow eyes were fixed warily on the weapon Geralt held in his hand.

“Geralt, _do_ something!” Jaskier hissed.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” Geralt returned, without taking his eyes off the monster.

“ _Hesitating_ ,” Jaskier responded. “I’m dangling like a bit of food and you’re wavering over whether or not to slay the damn beast!”

Geralt didn’t waste his breath in responding. He didn’t look at Jaskier. He watched and waited, fully focused. He waited long enough for the necrophage to relax its body. For its giant nose to twitch. For it to turn, with agonising slowness, to look towards the dangling bard. More bloodstained drool streamed down its chin and it advanced, slowly, towards the dangling Jaskier.

Jaskier’s squirming brought him round to see the necrophage coming towards him. His eyes widened and he began thrashing around frantically. He didn’t manage to break himself free, but a flailing hand caught the monster in one of its skeletal ribs.

The roar sounded more like a screech and the necrophage lunged forward, mouth opening impossibly wide as it prepared to bite down hard on Jaskier’s jugular.

Geralt plunged his sword into the monster’s stomach, ripping it downwards into a wound that turned from serious to fatal. Tearing the sword free, he then kicked the monster back and watched, with no emotion, as the necrophage toppled to the grass and lay still.

The monster’s stinking black blood covered Geralt’s shirt and arms, but he’d been covered in worse things. He turned to Jaskier and pulled his dagger from its belt, then used the blade to cut the bard free. He turned away as the other man crashed to the ground, finding a clean spot on the grass that he wiped his sword through, cleaning it off, before replacing it in its sheath.

“You didn’t have to drop me on my head, Geralt!” Jaskier stood up, making a show of brushing himself down. He took a step forward and then stopped short, holding a hand over his nose. “And you _stink_. Even more so than usual.”

Geralt shook his head. “Let’s go. Before the carrion comes to eat what remains.” He began to walk through the trees, giving the necrophage’s body a wide berth.

Jaskier hurried to catch up with him. “And the first body of water we get to, _you_ are taking a bath,” he declared.

“You don’t have to come with me, Jaskier. If my stench offends you that much. I didn’t ask you to come with me,” Geralt stated.

“Of course not. That would require you to actually _say_ something pleasant and charming for a change.” Jaskier hurried his steps to walk alongside Geralt. “Come on. I’ll even give you a bath myself.”

“Who says I want a bath from you?”

“You had no problem when I rubbed that lotion into you. _Any_ of the times,” Jaskier commented.

Geralt sighed and turned fully to face the bard. “If I agree to the bath, will you shut _the fuck_ up?”

“As long as you let me actually bathe you.”

“Fine.” Geralt turned and began striding away, heading towards the sound of rushing water that had started out at the very edge of his consciousness.

It was a lake that was on the other side of the patch of trees. It was wide, with a steep bank along which plants and flowers grew. Geralt cast a glance over the water, automatically looking for any dead bodies of animals or even people. Seeing none and that the plants and trees grew close without any sign of rot, he turned back towards Jaskier.

The bard had placed his instrument on the ground and now moved to take Geralt’s armour off.

“I can do it myself.” Geralt took a step back.

“I told you that I’d bathe you.” Jaskier stepped closer, grinning at Geralt. “Don’t be such a baby. You’re acting like no one’s ever stripped you before.”

“What are you doing, Jaskier?”

“I didn’t think you were getting old enough that your memory’s fading, Geralt,” Jaskier replied. “We just agreed that I was going to bathe you. Now, if I’m bathing you, that means I get to take all of this lovely armour off your lovely, tanned, well-muscled….”

“What game are you playing?” Geralt interrupted.

“Not a game.” Jaskier sounded injured.

“If you do this, we’re going to have sex.” Geralt stared hard at him. “Is that what you want?”

“Give the Witcher a prize!” Jaskier snorted softly and shook his head. “You didn’t seem that interested when I was rubbing lotion into your backside. I thought I’d make my intentions just that bit stronger. Well, If you’re interested, of course. You can say no.”

“And if I don’t say no?” Geralt reached out and pulled Jaskier hard and flush against his own body. He bent his head and kissed Jaskier hard, plundering the bard’s mouth as he pulled the man’s tunic loose. Pulled it from Jaskier’s body and dropped the clothing to the ground.

Jaskier’s hands roamed over Geralt’s body, beginning to pull the rest of his armour free. While they kissed, hard and deep, the two of them stripped each other of armour and clothing. And it wasn’t long before the two of them were completely naked.

Wrinkling his nose, Jaskier muttered, “Bathe first. Then sex.”

Geralt pulled back slowly and then moved down the riverbank. He waded into the water that came up to his stomach, then turned to watch as Jaskier waded into the water after him.

“This is fucking freezing.” Jaskier’s teeth chattered.

Geralt shrugged. “If you can handle my stench long enough for fucking, then we can get out onto the bank. I’ll fuck you there.”

“Not exactly one for nice pillow talk, are you?” Jaskier scooped up water into his hands and then began to rub them over Geralt’s body; down his chest and over his stomach. With a teasing grin, he slipped his hands around the Witche’s member, beginning to stroke and caress it to firmness.

Geralt pulled him into a hard kiss, tongue delving into Jaskier’s mouth as he bit the bard’s lips, gently but firmly. “I’ll push into you right here in the lake,” he growled against Jaskier’s lips. He slid his hands down the bard’s back, into the water, squeezing Jaskier’s buttocks and then gliding a finger across his entrance.

Jaskier hissed softly and then pressed back, more firmly, into the kiss. “Lean back,” he whispered. “Lay on your back in the water.”

Geralt pulled away to look into his eyes. “Why?”

“Just trust me.” Jaskier looked into his eyes. “I figure you have to trust me, if you let me come with you.”

Geralt could have pointed out that Jaskier hadn’t given him much choice. The bard had attached himself to Geralt; had all but forced himself on the Witcher. But Geralt had also found himself caring about the man. He was a friend. Perhaps even something more.

And so Geralt leaned back into the water, lay on his back. And a few seconds later, he felt fingers stroking through his hair; a gentle tugging as Jaskier spread out the white strands and began to wash them.

It was a sensation that Geralt had never experienced before. He stared up at the sky and floated on his back and felt Jaskier stroke, caress, and rub his hands through his hair. And the very simple act of having his hair washed sent all his blood to his member, causing it to swell and grow.

Growling, Geralt turned over in the water and grabbed Jaskier. He pulled the bard up onto the bank with him and pinned the man face down. Reaching for his supplies, he opened the bag and pulled out the oil he had for cleaning his sword. He covered his erection with the oil and took a firm hold of Jaskier’s hips before pushing into the bard.

Jaskier yelped and his fingers clenched in the grass as he breathed in deep. “ _Fuck_. That hurt.”

“It’ll fade.” Geralt pressed a hard kiss to Jaskier’s neck and then reached out, gripping Jaskier’s hand in his own. He rested against the bard’s back, buried inside Jaskier, and waited for the man to adjust.

Jaskier gripped Geralt’s hand, body slowly relaxing. “Okay,” he breathed out. “I’m ready. Doesn’t hurt so much now.”

“Good.” Grasping Jaskier’s hip firmly, Geralt began to thrust inside the bard. His member was already hard and aching and his release hit him within moments. His fingers tightened on Jaskier’s hip, tight enough to bruise, but the bard voiced no protest and a split second later, his body shuddered under Geralt’s as he gasped.

When his member grew flaccid, Geralt pulled slowly out of the bard and rolled over onto his back with a long sigh.

“Well.” Jaskier sprawled on top of Geralt, ignoring the grunt the Witcher gave in response. “That was a unique experience.”

“You’re not going to sing about that in your ballads, are you?”

“No.” Chuckling, Jaskier kissed him. “No,” he repeated. “I think some things should be left up to their imagination. Don’t you?”

** The End **


End file.
